Captain
by STRAYDOG92
Summary: Shinji suspects him, suspects his perfect-gentle-lovely lieutenant. But he's the only one. The only one who sees the sinner under the diamond-the snake ready to poison everyone in its field. But he's the only one who sees it, and he'll live with that forever.(MxM)


It wasn't that he disliked him.

There was just something about the man that Shinji Hirako found disconcerting. His smile, the slant of his glasses on his almost-handsome face…

He found himself wondering, sometimes, what Aizen would look like without them. Or even if he ever took them off.

Aizen had proven himself a very capable officer-and a very capable soul reaper at that. People came to Shinji, praising him on his luck that he had one such as Sousuke Aizen in his division.

Ever the immodest captain, Shinji only laughed and told them they were just there to try to pull his Aizen away from him.

But Shinji wouldn't let him go.

Not because of some misplaced affection for the brunette. Quite the opposite, really. There was something in his chocolate brown eyes-something dark.

Something deadly.

For that reason alone Shinji wanted to keep him close. Keep an ever-watchful ever-vigilant eye on his officer that seemed a bit too calm and a bit too trustworthy.

At times he wondered at his own suspicion. Years of correct intuition had taught him to trust his gut-oversensitive as it was-and he wasn't about to deny his instincts now, even though rationality seemed to overrule every inkling of doubt that ever rose to the captain's ever-churning mind.

Aizen was trustworthy, kind even. He helped the newer shinigami with their training, answered any question posed to him. Even helped the lieutenant with his paperwork. He never rose his voice, never complained about much, and always had a nice word to say about everyone.

But that was just it. So many _perfects_ for only one man.

Nobody was that good. Not outside the storybooks, anyway.

Alone together, Shinji's worries didn't grow. If anything, he found himself an idiot. Aizen was pleasant, speaking to him about the problems of another in their squad. It wasn't something Shinji Hirako was unaware of.

Just the opposite, really.

"He's hurting her."

The man in question was a ranked officer who found his position to be ever-beneficial in getting girls to keep their silence when he wanted them to.

And of course Shinji knew. He already knew what to do about the man, but Aizen coming to beseech him for a solution certainly wasn't expected. The look of worry in his eyes, the concerned frown on his face as his hands shook around his tea cup…all the classic symbols of a worried friend.

But somehow Shinji doubted even knew what the word meant.

"I'm worried for her.

"What would you do in my stead?" It wasn't a true inquire of opinion. He'd figured out what he was going to do the night before. But it would have been nice to know what ever-perfect, ever-kind Aizen would do about the problem.

Perhaps he'd find a less-than-perfect solution lurking beneath the other's benign exterior.

"I'd get rid of him."

The answer wasn't expected, double meaning of the words ringing in the silence without having to be said.

"Would you now, Sousuke?" And the surprise in Shinji's voice wasn't real at all.

Sometimes Aizen had the ability to completely put him off.

He'd had no other choice but to promote Aizen to lieutenant. If he hadn't, many people would've questioned his motives.

Why not promote him? They'd ask. He's perfect just _perfect_ all _perfection._

Still too many perfects for such a package.

But appeasement of his peers wasn't the only motivator for Shinji Hirako to promote the officer to lieutenant. A lieutenant was important. A lieutenant was his captain's right hand.

A lieutenant was expected to almost always be in his captain's sight.

Shinji was always seeing him, always around him, always aware of what his lieutenant was doing.

Or he should've been.

At first he wasn't sure what it was that tipped him off during his alone time-of which he didn't have much of these days. As his suspicion grew, he gravitated toward his lieutenant. To others, it seemed like they were simply growing closer. Perhaps the captain had some clandestine affection for his ever-loyal lieutenant.

He should've known that to Aizen, things were going perfectly. His captain fixated on him, Sousuke Aizen had every opportunity in the world-and some in hell-to prove just how trustworthy he was.

And he wasted none of them.

He wooed the other officers not romantically, but until none of them could think of a reason to doubt him. Later there would be many curses, many '_I should have known_' statements flying from flapping jaws. But not then. Then it was as if Sousuke Aizen was the Seireitei's golden boy.

But Shinji was the jealous uncle who couldn't make himself feel the same.

Of course he never spoke to the other captains about it. He didn't want it getting back to his lieutenant that he wasn't as loving as trusting as he tried so hard to be. That he wasn't as fond of his lieutenant as he made himself out to be.

When the entire Seireitei sans one blonde haired, broad grinning captain was on his side, Sousuke Aizen changed.

Not to them. To his fans he would be perfect for many more years. But around Shinji Hirako he let down his disguise.

It wasn't noticeable at first. And Shinji questioned himself on if he was really seeing and hearing what he thought. A little remark here, a cruel gesture there….was Sousuke really calling their third seat weak, or was he simply bleating his concerns of their fighting force? Any trusted officer could be expected to do the same.

But when Shinji opened the illusion in the air, it was as if he ripped away all pretenses of Aizen's disguise for himself.

Sousuke Aizen, for his part, only chuckled and spoke with that calm, reassuring tone that seemed to work for everyone else.

For Shinji it was as if a snake was coiling tighter and tighter around his throat with every word.

And this snake's venom had no antidote.

Later, when Aizen made an inane apology and made his more important move, Shinji would only belatedly wonder why his tongue found no fangs in the other's caustic mouth.

Shinji Hirako didn't trust anything that came out of Aizen's mouth.

Whether it was outside or in the captain's room, where their bodies seemed to tangle and overlap.

It was a tribute to his distrust that Shinji was the one still mostly dressed. Hakama on the floor, his haori and shihakusho the only protection against complete vulnerability.

"I don't trust you." Words came as a breathy moan, red face tipped back as a long-fingered hand worked him quickly-not at all a _gentle perfection._

"Do you need to?" Sousuke's voice was a soft, calm timbre that didn't match the twists of his hand at all.

"No." Voice a low hiss, Shinji twisted. Aizen struck, target easy and accessible. His venomous mouth closed over so much pale skin, leaving moist bruises in his wake.

"Don't leave marks you bastard." Shinji's voice was tight, matching the arch of his back as he leaned back against the wall.

His only support, a silent spectator to the suspicion, the internal struggle, the depraved acts.

Sad in more ways than a single.

Aizen took his time speaking. Took his time before he deigned to grace the falling captain with any kind of answer beyond a harder nip-a harsher twist. "Yes." Too simple an answer, one that didn't answer the question.

But _yes_ he has left marks. Marks on Shinji's body, marks on Shinji's soul. Only one was visible, but the other would never heal.

The marks on his neck, leading down to his chest, seemed a crazed connect the dots. No image made by drawing lines, except Shinji's path of reason. A picture of his mind, crisscrossed as it was.

"Stop." Voice almost inaudible, Sousuke still heard. He paused, as if humoring a child, hand stilled on red and weeping flesh.

"Why? You don't really want me to stop." Amused. He didn't take Shinji seriously at all. Especially when he had the other up against the wall so prettily _just so._

"Touch yourself." Shinji's grin was crooked, chest still heaving. He wasn't beaten. Not one bit. Shinji Hirako was a captain. Not an innocent boy-child having his first taste of a crude handjob.

It was a battle between them that Shinji could-would-_had to_ win. His grin widened, eyes fixed on Sousuke's. "Unless you have a reason not to." A challenge, issued in precisely seven words.

He wasn't met with verbal acquiescence, though a shrug known to his eyes. Naked in front of him, Aizen shifted forward, wrapping one arm around his captain's neck as his fingers readjusted to wrap around them both.

A compromise that was hardly fair to one in the room.

Close-so close-and lips brushed together more than accidentally. Shinji was older, was more experienced.

Or perhaps more easily pleased.

Shinji's hands shot forward, fingers digging into pale hips and leaving marks so easily.

Too easily, but hardly even nicks on Sousuke's diamond armor.

The captain was much louder, his lieutenant more reserved.

Hand covered in both their release, Sousuke was still the one to breathe. Not the one to pant.

And afterward, with Aizen gone and Shinji in the dark, only one of them questioned _everything._

The other questioned naught at all.

He hated himself more than he could ever hate Sousuke Aizen.

Lying on the ground and feeling his soul being twisted-morphed-_changed,_ Shinji knew he should've done something about the brunette long before he had this chance to do something to his captain.

Back when he had the opportunity.

Back before he had gotten like this.

Around him a lullaby of whimpers beat incessantly at his ears. But there was nothing he could do for his writhing comrades when he couldn't even do shit for himself.

It was his fault. He knew.

Always fucking _knew_ that there was too much perfection in such a package. It wasn't real. It was never real.

Now more than just he knew it wasn't real, but what good was that knowledge now?

They did as much good as his mumbled curses and moans, garbled and mixed with no true meaning except to _express._

The sinner proudly standing,

The prophet on the ground.

Writhing.

Hurting.

_Still Alive. _

And one hundred years would do nothing to temper the hatred that grew to shield him from his guilt.


End file.
